Vulcanville
by Squidgal
Summary: Welcome to Vulcanville, Population: 3503 assorted humans, 1 illegal Alien, and 1 young Predator on a mission. Enjoy your stay!
1. Prelude

**Disclaimer:** Basically the same drill. I do not own the Alien, Predator, or AVP franchises, just having a bit o' fun. Any resemblance to persons, yautjas,and xenomorphs, living or dead, is purely coincidental. No peanuts were harmed in the writing of this story.

* * *

**Prologue**

"But how did you catch it?" asked the tech.

"Through sheer dumb luck; it took a dozen of my men to subdue it, and even then it was a bitch of a job." Stan Murphy admired the creature in the armored crate. "Damn thing is going back to Vulcanville. The boys are going to have their entertainment after all."

* * *

**If you survive the extraordinary things, it is often the little things that will kill you.**

"Well Pete, aren't you going to ask me the question?"

Pete looked up and found himself staring at Captain Dora of the _Jolly Cephalopod_. She wore a lovely yellow wader, and she carried a mean looking spear gun.

"Uh, I thought you were on the bridge, getting ready to land and stuff." Pete scratched at his forehead with a butter knife.

"I thought you'd enjoy scrambled eggs for breakfast so I came up with a plate," replied Captain Dora.

Pete sighed and said, "What about the question you asked me before?"

"What question?"

"For goodness sakes, I'm trying to salvage what's left of my research! Why can't I have a peaceful and normal breakfast?" Pete slammed his butter knife down.

"That's a good boy!" Captain Dora looked pleased.

"What the---"

There was a scratching noise and Pete found himself shoveling scrambled eggs into his mouth. They were the creamiest he ever had and he relished the slightly tangy taste of the rich eggs. His mind wandered, and he soon forgot his annoyance as he ate more of the eggs. Pete began to wonder why he was angry before when he spied a grinning Captain Dora out of the corner of his eye. He lowered his fork and looked at her. Pete didn't know why, but his gaze returned to the scrambled eggs before him. Slowly, he looked up at the captain.

"Captain Dora? I thought we ran out of powdered eggs shortly after we left Deneb Prime."

"Correctomundo, we actually did run out of powdered eggs!" cheerfully answered the captain as she sat across from Pete.

"Well, where did you get these?" Pete pointed at the plate before him. He noticed the scrambled eggs didn't look so appealing anymore. Normal powdered eggs should not look too leathery and gelatinous when reconstituted.

"Ah, well, you know? Waste not, want not."

"What do you mean? What's with the eggs?" screeched Pete all of a sudden. He tried to suppress another screech as he saw a facehugger appear out of nowhere, but it did not attempt to launch itself at his face. Instead, it started to dance the tarantella.

Nora grinned mischievously and said, "Remember those xenomorph eggs you had the Colonial Marines destroy? _ tip tappity tap tap tap…_Well, I thought that they might be edible and since they were puréed and the acid neutralized…_tip tap tappity tap…_we could have them for for for...What's wrong, dear? Why are you trying to shove your finger down your throat?" _tip tappity tap tap tap_

Pete was having a strange internal experience. It felt as if his organs were on strike. He can feel something trying to claw its way out and as he gaped, he let out a burp of hurricane force that took off the wig that covered the top of Captain Dora's head. It revealed, in the blink of an eye, a shiny black exoskeleton that elongated into an all too familiar and most malignant xenomorph, the bane of humankind. Pete's eyes bulged as the alien thing that was once the brave captain hissed in rage.

Pete Loligo, xenobiologist, soon felt a squirming presence within him, and as he opened his mouth wide to emit a horrendous yell, a creature burst from his chest like a grisly jack in a box. Pete Loligo, now a rapidly dying human husk, was very much relieved when darkness fell and all he heard was the dwindling cacophony of screaming xenomorphs.

Pete woke up screaming. Damn, now that was one diabolical dream! _If it were possible to film this nightmare, it would have been a straight-to-webcast horror flick_ thought Pete as he wiped the cold sweat from his forehead. In his haste to get out of bed, he leapt from his bunk only to land barefooted on a spiny oyster carelessly left on the floor by his assistant Gus during his Terran mollusk collection inventory. The morning peace was broken by a shriek similar to one made by a hysterical soul given a second chance in the same body and upon returning to earth finding that body being used as a specimen for pre-med students.

"What's with all that screaming?" asked Captain Dora as she looked over the computer readouts.

"I don't know. It could be those hinges on the door to the head. Nobody's ever oiled them before and they sure do sound like somebody stepping on a Terran spiny oyster after jumping out of bed," answered a Marine.

"Oh, well, have them oiled. I thought we were keeping a clean ship here!"

"Aye, Captain! Hey, look at Doctor Pete! He's all gimpy. I wonder if he's the one who's been dancing all night to wake the dead!"

The captain turned and watched Pete limp towards her with a grin on his face and a maniacal gleam to his eyes.

"Hi Captain," said Pete shyly.

"Hi Doctor Pete," replied Captain Dora. "Did you by any chance hear the squeaky hinges this morning? They must have been loud enough to wake the dead. All that tortured screeching is enough to drive somebody mad."

"Uh, that was me, Nora. I stepped on something that wasn't meant to be stepped on."

* * *

**Never be the first, never be the last, and never volunteer for anything.**

The older warriors would say _Dtai'kai'-dte sa-de nau'gkon dtain'aun bpi-de_: The fight begun will not end until the end. It was always all about _Dtai'kai'-dte sa-de nau'gkon dtain'aun bpi-de_.

It was a saying drilled into Va'ar'ide ever since he started to train for The Hunt. He remembered his days as a young sucker, spending nearly every morning of every day along with his peers, writing that same tired old saying a thousand times in a row. They were chained to their desks until they were finished with that particular drill, but he couldn't find fault with writing exercises that strengthened his wrists.

This first Hunt was not the smashing success Va'ar'ide had hoped for. He managed to kill one _kainde amedha_ drone during the Hunt, technically making him a Blooded hunter, but it was just that one drone. His reason for killing only one drone was due to his chance meeting with a tentacle-covered creature that wanted him for an afternoon snack. He finally killed the beast after a very long and uncomfortable wrestling match in the creature's noxious lair.

Unfortunately, the creature didn't have a skull to take as a trophy and bringing in something soft and flaccid wouldn't go down too well with his Leader and peers; there might be a microscopic chance of grudging praise from the Leader, but probably ridicule and scorn from the more experienced Blooded warriors traveling with them. He saw his chance to acquire at least one more trophy when the Leader asked a volunteer to hunt down the last hard meat. It was only one more trophy, but the prestige of ending the Hunt would give him some points in the status game.

Va'ar'ide had to beat up a few of his fellow yautjas for the volunteer position. He was looking forward to the assignment and when the Leader told him that the hunt will not be on the planet they were on now, but on another planet populated by oomans, Va'ar'ide could feel his excitement building up. It was soon apparent that Va'ar'ide's task was only to hunt down and kill the drone. Oomans were an unknown quantity and might be too much for a Youngblood to handle, so he had to avoid the oomans as much as possible (yeah, right, it was more likely that the little shits would go after him anyways just for _pauking_ curiosity's sake.) That lessened his excitement somewhat, but he was going to gain another trophy after all.

Curious to know how a hard meat drone managed to leave the planet without anyone's knowledge, Va'ar'ide asked the Leader, Yaun'thei-de. Strangely, he received an enigmatic reply.

"If you drop a Blooded yautja in full hunter's gear on a planet in the middle of nowhere with a ship in good working order, you tell him not to touch the sole ooman living on the planet. When you return half a cycle later, you will find the yautja dead, the planet covered in _kainde amedha_, the ship smashed to pieces, the ooman trying to leave with you, and all because oomans gotta _pauk_ with shit!"

Va'ar'ide was still puzzled and cocked his head quizzically until Yaun'thei-de further explained the situation.

"A bunch of _pauk-de_ oomans walked in while we were supervising you and your fellow suckers. Those little turds were fast and before we knew what was going on, they flew off with one of the hard meat drones. G'kounte should have been watching for intruders, but he was too busy fending off the amorous advances of the herpetoid species that inhabit this planet."

"Oh, I see," nodded Va'ar'ide as he noticed poor G'kounte trying to disentangle himself from the love struck serpent coiling around his waist.

"For Cetanu's sake, why don't you just kill the thing!" yelled an older warrior.

"I can't! It's female and unarmed…See! No legs…no arms…ugh, get off!" roared G'kounte.

"Now let's find someone to accompany you on your little jaunt." Yaun'thei-de called the older Blooded hunters to him, except for G'kounte, and taking up a bunch of hard meat claws, he took one and snapped it in half, making it shorter than the rest. The experienced yautjas then took one claw. Yaun'thei-de then asked which one had the short claw. As the other hunters started to clatter and gurgle with laughter, one yautja raised his taloned hand.

The yautja who picked the short claw had his back turned to Va'ar'ide, making it hard for him to see who it was. He was hoping it was the _hulij-bpe_ hunter Va'ar'ide's fellow students talked about all the time. Sure enough, it turned out to be that particular one.

To say that Ny'ra'dur was strange in the brain would be an understatement. A warrior who walked a fine line between audacity and sheer lunacy, it was said that when he was called out to a Death-Challenge by another yautja demanding satisfaction, Ny'ra'dur showed up completely naked with only a _ki'cti-pa_ as his choice of weapon. The befuddled challenger did not know whether to fight or be embarrassed by the whole thing, so Ny'ra'dur dispatched the unfortunate fellow.

Ny'ra'dur was also one of those rare individuals whose luck appeared to never run out. The females on the Homeworld adored him, and there were many songs sung about his feats. Trophies, both strange and ordinary, covered his dwelling. Being the recipient of the _Wer'da'pauk'arwi_ Award nine cycles in a row was due to Ny'ra'dur's uncanny gift of finding the most unusual hunting worlds and hunting the most belligerent apex predators each world had to offer. Ardent conservationists credited and condemned him for causing the extinction of one predatory species because it turned out the individual he bagged was the last of its kind.

What can one say to a hunter whose answer to every question asked about his trophies was '_Everything_ _tastes like hard meat'_?

Va'ar'ide had the warm feeling that this would be a very eventful hunt and that having Ny'ra'dur supervising him would be an honor, _hulij-bpe_ aside.

The Youngblood's warm feeling soon evaporated and was replaced by the strange feeling of insecurity when Ny'ra'dur walked up to him, slammed his hand onto his shoulder, and shook him hard enough to muss up his dreadlocks.

As jolly as can be, Ny'ra'dur leaned in and said, "Trained hard and still had a difficult time on The Hunt, Youngblood? There's nothing wrong with your skills or equipment. The gods just don't like you."

* * *

**Glossary of Selected Yautja Terms**

**_Kainde amedha_** Literally 'hard meat'; xenomorphs; the exoskeleton hard asses that refuses to die when you want them to, plus they have the tendency of taking you along with them to be infested by their toothy maggots.

**_Hulij-bpe_** Crazy; a skull short of a trophy wall, a spearhead short of a spear, etc.

**_Pauk -de, -ing_** Similar to the human expletive F! Often used in conjunction with the word _ooman, _esp. in this story.

**_Ki'cti-pa_** The wrist gauntlet with the lethal double blades of varying length; used for slicing, dicing, and gutting of various prey.

**_Cetanu_ **A yautja deity of death.

**_Yautja_** What they (the Predators) call themselves.

**_Ooman or Pyode amedha _** What they (the Predators) call us; at times used in a derogatory fashion; literally 'soft meat.'

**_Wer'da'pauk'arwi_** An award given to the yautja who finds the most unusual hunting grounds; it is also a club with different chapters throughout the universe; similar to the human's Werdafukarwi Club, which gave Vulcanville 3 stars for having the most illegal entertainments.


	2. Travelogue of Death

**Disclaimer:** I do not own the Predator or Alien franchises, I'm just having a bit o' fun with the characters.

* * *

**Decisions made by someone over your head will seldom be in your best interest.**

Vulcanville, the city Stan Murphy built near the foot of an extinct volcano, was home and paradise to a variety of colonists that included former adventurers, bored ex-Colonial Marines, miners, and their families. It was the only inhabited settlement on a continent dotted with extinct volcanoes, deep lakes, and tropical hardwood forests.

Anyone who came to Vulcanville remarked at its rawness, its youth, and the sense that it was on the edge of civilization, of the familiar. It did not lack in natural beauty though. Surrounding the city were hills of volcanic glass and mineral deposits built up over countless millennia by volcanic activity. Shaped by time and the forces of wind, water, and heat, the hills glistened with shards and crystalline ridges sharp enough to cut an intrepid hiker to ribbons. It was very likely that these hills were alive with the sound of screaming.

Looming over the hills and city was the massive bulk of the extinct volcano, Mount Wart (named by the survey group that mapped the region,) and over the hills and far away were the primeval forests similar to the long dead and lamented rainforests of old Earth.

The continent was one of four on the geologically active planet Sarkand-883. Murphy was fortunate in settling the most stable of the four; there were none of the massive calderas that spewed lava continuously neither were there any of the unpredictable and dangerous cinder cones that could decimate a settlement the size of Vulcanville a hundred times over with a devastating explosion of superheated gas and burning debris.

Murphy saw to it that the forces of nature would not endanger Vulcanville; it was always a good idea never to emulate the ancient Terran cities of Pompeii and Herculaneum. However, Stan Murphy did not foresee the trouble caused by his own actions.

Stan Murphy was a gambling man, plain and simple. When he had nothing to lose, he wagered everything he had, including his wife, and won the Outer Veil planet of Sarkand-883 during a high stakes game; his wife immediately divorced him after the game.

It was no wonder that Vulcanville remained the only settlement profiting from its gambling establishments. Murphy didn't have any plans to explore the rest of his world. He would rather play his games and entertain his planetary 'party guests', the colonists. He left everything else, i.e. running the city's various municipal duties, working and staffing the power grid, and basic police force, to his friends and assistants to sort. He was willing to give homesteads to the hardworking miners and anybody else who had the ambition to start a life outside of Vulcanville. Yet the majority stayed in Vulcanville for the comforts and entertainments it offered. If anybody wanted to go out into the world and explore, it was fine with Stan Murphy just as long as he or she left Vulcanville alone.

"How's the Bastard?" inquired Stan.

"You mean that bug? Damn, Murphy, you should've killed it when you had the chance. I'm beginning to think you brought that thing here just to turn my life into a living hell!" The trainer turned to one of his fighters and started to adjust his body armor and straps.

"Well, I thought your boys would like the challenge and besides, I won't let it get too far with your fighters. My people are always nearby to prevent anything fatal from happening. Anyways, you're getting a fair share of the profits and there are off-worlders out there willing to give their arm and leg for a chance to see these fights."

The trainer sighed. "Okay, but don't say I didn't warn you. If that thing ever escapes, I'll be the first one out there with a pulse rifle, profits be damned!"

The sound of somebody clearing their throat distracted Stan, and as he turned, he saw one of his friends standing nearby.

"Ahoy there, Stan, the _Jolly Cephalopod_ is coming in with a boatload of tourists and a crew of Marines just itchin' for a vacation. Do you want me to meet and greet?" asked Sicky McGee.

"Sure Sicky, just go over the intros and the dos and don'ts. Will the captain be joining us?"

"I think she's going to spend her vacation here. That bug doctor fiancée of hers is accompanying her too," replied Sicky.

"Okay, they'll be here in time for a bit of extreme fighting. Bring the captain and the doc over when they're ready." With that said and done, Stan went back to arguing with the trainer.

**xXx**

"Are you sure you want to see this? I mean, the slightest spillage of internal body fluids makes you violently queasy and for you to insist upon coming along, well, it might not be a great idea. Do you remember that time in Thule when Gus got a nosebleed? You barfed and then fainted on the glacier, and we had to thaw you out of your own frozen barf to get you off the ice."

"I can take it Nora. Don't worry about me!" cried Pete as he eagerly looked forward to seeing his first fight.

The arena they were heading for was one of the largest buildings in Vulcanville, second only to the spaceport. Sicky McGee kept up a running commentary as they drove through the crowded streets leading to the arena. Pedestrians hurried and scurried among the electric vehicles crowding the roads while vendors started to set up their little booths of souvenirs, refreshments, and snacks to sell.

"The volcano you see behind the arena is called Mount Wart. Fortunately, Murphy didn't name his city after the volcano, but he did hold a naming contest, hence the beautiful name of Vulcanville."

"Gee, I would have liked to have lived in a place called Wartville," commented Gus from the backseat. "If you think about all the lovely images that name conjures up, it's enough to bring tears to one's eyes."

"Leave it to you, Gus, to make the name Wartville sound so exciting," said Pete as he craned his neck to look at the vendors lining the road.

"The forests you see dotting the hills and ravines consists of various species of tropical hardwoods similar to Terran mahogany and teak. They are endemic to the volcanic soils and mineral strata found in the different areas. The main forest, North Woods, begins just outside the city limits, north of the arena and curls up the slopes and behind the base of Mount Wart. The Humberto River, which is named after Stan Murphy's dog, runs through Vulcanville and through the North Woods, cutting through deep wooded ravines in some places and skirting the base of Mount Wart, the source of the Humberto River." Sicky McGee continued his monotonous drone as Captain Dora, Pete, and Gus made appreciative noises and stared up at the snow-capped peak of Mount Wart.

The three finally made it to the arena. Ushers escorted them inside and to their seats in Stan Murphy's VIP lounge. Sicky McGee stayed for a while to brief them on the day's entertainment, which was a hand-to-hand affair similar to the gladiatorial combat of the ancient Romans. He asked if they wanted to place bets on the combatants, but they declined.

Sicky soon left to place his own bets and as he was making his way down, he met Murphy on his way to the lounge.

"How are my niece and her boyfriend?"

"They're fine and in good cheer. Their friend, Gus, is a hoot though," observed Sicky.

"Ah, you mean Gustav. Nora's been telling me that he's the one with the street smarts and who keeps Pete Loligo in line," said Murphy as he headed up. "Don't forget to place your bets!"

When Stan Murphy entered the lounge, Nora Dora stood up and gave her uncle a hug. Pete and Gus came forward and shook hands with the owner of the planet.

"So, how does it feel to rule this world?" asked Nora.

"I wish I can tell you that it sucks, but I actually feel very good about it," replied Murphy. "It's just about the most exhilarating feeling in the universe!"

Suddenly, the lights dimmed and a lone spotlight illuminated one end of the arena.

"Look, the show's starting! This is so exciting," cried Pete as he strained forward in his seat.

* * *

**Having all your body parts intact and functioning at the end of the day beats the alternative...**

Down in the cheap seats, not too far from the nosebleed sections, the spectators murmured and spoke to each other about the bets they placed and the amount of money they would have to pay back to the loan shark if their bets went sour. Some even listened carefully to what the food vendors were selling as they made their way down the aisles

"Peanuts get your peanuts! Fresh roasted peanuts!" yelled one.

"Hot dogs, nice and hot, get 'em while they're hot," shouted another.

"I thought they stopped making hot dogs a long time ago."

"I thought peanuts were extinct."

"Shut up! I'm trying to watch! The match's about to begin and for your information, peanuts are not extinct and hot dogs are still manufactured on Earth, but from what, I have no idea."

"Soylent Green?"

"I told you to shut up!"

**xXx**

Stan turned to his guests. "The match all of you are going to see took a while to set up because we ran out of special 'contestants' for our fighters to go up against. Luckily, we managed to find the Bastard on a planet we stopped on for a bit of repair. Capturing that xenomorph was the hardest thing I've ever done. It was quite an interesting planet though. The creatures were incredible, and we would have stayed longer, but we had a schedule to keep and the repairs were minor, so the job went quickly."

"Did I just hear you say xenomorph?" said Pete, "the kind of creature you don't want to mess with in the first place?"

"Uncle Stan, I thought it was extremely dangerous to have a xenomorph in captivity, unless you were doing bio-weaponry research for _you-know-who_."

"_You-know-who_ could kiss my ass. I don't give a flying rat's ass about _you-know-who_. I'm running the show here and that's it! I've safety precautions everywhere. There will be no breach in containment here," snapped Stan.

"I'm just curious to know what sort of desperate fools would fight such a thing in the first place," said Gus. "Lone xenomorphs are known to be vicious and unpredictable. They're cunning and quite voracious when it comes to fresh meat."

"The 'desperate fools' you're talking about just happen to be former soldiers and fighters. They're here to test their skills and to see if they're still at the top of their game. I'm just giving them an outlet for their boredom," explained Stan.

"Yeah and giving the spectators an outlet for their bloodlust too," Nora replied.

"Oh gosh, it's starting," whispered Pete as an armored box slowly lumbered into the arena and a lone fighter approached warily.

**xXx**

Meat, it sensed meat everywhere. It was ravenous, and in the darkness, it itched in anticipation. Its black exoskeleton gleamed in what little light there was in its moving prison. It shifted its bulk and readied itself to pounce on the prey it sensed was getting closer to its lair.

**xXx**

Chuck Walla, on and off adventurer, never knew what it was like to be a Colonial Marine. He was never in a firefight where one had to face down an advancing horde of xenomorphs with only a pulse rifle, the amount of ammunition one had left, and any other weapons one can find to prolong one's life. He scoffed at the exaggerated tales the former Colonial Marines told him. He'd encountered various aggressive creatures throughout his life, so a xenomorph shouldn't be very hard. Too bad these assumptions were proven wrong.

It was unfortunate that Chuck Walla was the first challenger in this brutal game, but what did he have to lose besides his life? It was all about the glory and the chance to win a hefty sum if he defeated the Bastard.

The crowd was cheering him on, and as Walla strode forward, he hefted the spear he was given. The body armor he was wearing was a bit heavy, but comfortable enough for him to move easily.

"Go Chuck Walla!" screamed the crowd.

The attack came so suddenly, Chuck didn't even have the tiniest chance. Once the door to the armored crate opened, the xenomorph burst outward with a shriek of pure psychotic fury. It latched its claws onto the surprised combatant and bore him to the ground where it started to rip into his body armor. Chuck tried to get the spear wedged between the creature and his body, but the weight and frenzied thrashing of the creature kept his arms pinned to the ground.

"Go Chuck Walla!" encouraged the spectators.

The advantage belonged to the xenomorph and as it unlatched one of its clawed hands from the armor, it jerked forward and grabbed the wire mesh that was part of the facemask on Chuck's helmet. It tried to pry his helmet off, but its claws became entangled in the wire mesh. With a shout, Chuck began to wriggle and squirm his way out from beneath the furious alien as its hind legs tightened their hold on his body armor, slowly piercing the soft flesh of his belly. The creature finally tore its claws from the facemask and raked them along the fighter's unprotected upper left arm eliciting a scream and even more desperate flailing. It tried to get its tail in position to impale, but the slight shift in the creature's body weight gave Chuck an opening. He drew up his spear quickly with his uninjured arm and jabbed at the alien's abdomen, knocking the thing off briefly, but not before its tail caught him on the side of his headgear, knocking his helmet off.

Dazed, Chuck Walla got to his feet only to be tripped up by the tail as it swung again behind his legs. With a gasp, he saw the head of the alien rocket forward and the secondary jaws within shooting towards him. With a quick scramble backwards, he managed to get his head away from the lethal jaws. It was all in vain though because the jaws managed to catch Chuck in the shoulder, punching a bloody wound through and through. Screaming in pure agony, the fighter now had to endure the alien's claws as it scrabbled once again at his body, trying to tear off the armor and at the same time gouging the living meat beneath. With cruel strength, the xenomorph lifted Chuck off the ground and began to thrash him; it was shaking its victim like a hound of Hell with a human piñata and its contents were spilling out.

"Go Bastard! Go Bastard!" hollered the crowd as soon as they saw who the clear winner was.

**xXx**

"Stan, get him out of there!" bellowed Nora Dora as she saw the xenomorph start to play with the injured fighter.

"Get the team down there ASAP! Don't hurt the Bastard, but get it back into its crate!" Nora's uncle also managed to utter a few curses into his comlink before he dashed to the door. "Stay put all of you!"

"Look!" Gus was standing on the railing, peering at the new and sudden commotion in the arena.

Nora saw dozens of men emerging from various hidden doorways surrounding the arena. Armed with shock rifles, they rapidly approached the xenomorph, and as it released the fighter, it turned and began to lope towards them; with the creature distracted, a few medics rushed forward and rescued the nearly lifeless combatant, hurrying away with their patient before they could attract the xenomorphs ire.

With a hiss, it tried to intimidate the men by charging at them, but the shock rifles made it balk. It shrieked at the men and ran towards the crowded stands where it bounded over the high wall, but it stopped in midair as it struck the invisible energy barrier that protected the horrified spectators from any wayward debris thrown up by battles or from escaping animals.

As the xenomorph fell back onto the arena floor, the overwhelming numbers of the containment team overpowered it with their rifles. Volts of electricity writhed and engulfed the xenomorph as the men herded it towards the waiting crate.

**xXx**

In the corner of the VIP lounge, Pete was vomiting his breakfast and brunch, plus the few peanuts he managed to scarf down before the match began.

"Damn my uncle for bringing in that monster in the first place!" Nora fumed as she looked down at the emptying arena.

"Your uncle still wants to keep it alive," observed Gus, "I don't know why he should bother; the thing's a danger to everybody while it's still breathing."

"My uncle is one of the most stubborn men alive. If he thinks he can get a good deal out of something potentially dangerous, he's going to go all out for it," sighed Nora as she sat down.

"I guess we just have to change his mind then," said Pete, fully recovered from his bout of vomiting.

"How are we going to do that?" asked Nora and Gus.

"Well, we can try to persuade him to stop using the xenomorph in any future matches until he can find a non-lethal alternative." Pete looked from one to the other.

"Or we can just go in and kill it without telling uncle!"

Stan appeared just then along with Sicky McGee. They both looked shaken at what had happened.

"I need a drink! That was close, too close!" Stan crossed to the bar and poured himself a large amount of whiskey.

"Chuck Walla is going to recover, but his injuries are life-threatening. What are we going to do?" asked Sicky.

"Let's keep the Bastard in containment. I'll postpone the matches until I can figure out what to do next. By the way, how did the odds go in this match, and how much did we rake in?" Stan took another sip of his whiskey.

"Ah! I've just about had it up to here with all your gambling crap!" Nora stood up to face her uncle. "If you don't kill the darn thing, I'll do it myself!"

"Sorry about that! I just can't help myself." Stan backed away from his niece.

"You really need some serious help on that gambling problem of yours, man." Pete came forward to stand next to Nora. "She's right about the Bastard. If you're not willing to kill it, we'd be happy to kill it for you. I've seen what its pals can do and even just one of those things is a disaster waiting to happen, oh wait, it's already happened. You saw what it did to the poor guy in body armor; think of what it could do to the defenseless tourists and families you have out there if it ever escaped?"

"Goddamnit, alright, take this down Sicky and make sure you get every word. I'll make sure the Bastard is terminated." Stan Murphy then turned to Nora, Pete, and Gus, "I thought the three of you were on a vacation? Get out of here before I change my mind! Go take a vehicle and explore for goodness sakes!"


End file.
